minus nights

by mistersoto

in the darkness
exhaling his fingers
grope for the matches
index scuffing the strike strip
illuminating his face
in the brief spark bright light
flame and wick
co-join in the cacophony
the exploding match head
like the snuffing
of a distant life unknown
taking the flame the wick
he blows it out
and fumbles in renewed darkness
urgency of
thumb and index
the next match to strike
his anticipation burns his darkness
to relight the wick
to extinguish again and again
reaching his index in exploring
the empty tray
the box crush in his palm
slumping again in mirrored exhaustion
in the submerging darkness

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